


King of anything

by mairon_writes



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Blood and Injury, M/M, Making Out, Murder, Russian Mafia, Violence, basically shit ton of pain for everyone, sorta?it's supposed to be anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mairon_writes/pseuds/mairon_writes
Summary: When an unassuming artist saves a man’s life at the shooting at the gallery, he ends up in the midde of the war between two mafias and as he gets dragged deeper into the whole thing, he soon learns the line between the sides and right and wrong blur more than he expected.
Relationships: Dominik Livaković/Bruno Petković, Luka Modrić/Šime Vrsaljko, Tin Jedvaj/Ante Rebić
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. Livi

The day wasn’t warm to begin with, but the cold, February wind chilled to the bone. It wasn’t stopped by the high fence that prevented outsiders to see the inside of the training field.

And yet, Livi’s palms were sweating, and he was gripping the knife in his hand way too forcefully. He wondered if he could snap it in half if he gripped it tighter.

“Livi. Breathe. And just throw the knife. I can catch it,” Luka said nonchalantly, as if it was such an _easy_ thing to do.

It wasn’t that Livi didn’t know how to throw a knife. He was taught how to handle both knives and guns since he was a child. Throwing a knife with the intention of it ending in someone’s skull well…that was a different story.

“Unless you’d prefer we exchange places this second, I recommend you throw that knife. Now." 

With a deep breath, Livi closed his eyes and let the instinct of habit take over. Lovre’s advice came back to him, as clearly as the day he said them.

_It doesn’t matter who or what you are throwing the knife at. It’s important how you throw it."_

_Lovre wrapped his hand around Livi’s raising it so it was in height of Livi’s head._

_"You should know how much force to use by the heaviness of the knife.”_

Livi concentrated on the cold feel of the handle, of how it’s weight felt in his hand.

_“Then you focus on the target-imagine it as a red dot.”_

Red dot. No skin, no bones, no piercing brown eyes. Just the red dot.

_And…throw it.“_

The knife flew through the air, and for a second, it was as if the time slowed. 

He watched as the knife cut straight through the air to towards his target. Livi was suddenly filled with dread-straight throw with a deadly accuracy. He should have threw the knife with a spin. 

It happened in a split second-Luka’s hands moved impossibly fast-and he stopped the knife between his palms.

Livi relased a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

Luka lowered the knife, and caught Livi’s gaze again, evaluating him. It was unnerving, especially since Livi has known him for two years now. At first, he hoped it was a thing that will pass and that Luka will stop looking at him as if he is trying to figure out all of his secrets and weaknesses.

Then again, better Luka than Dalić.

"Good throw. Now you only need to learn to catch it that way as well.”

Livi’s face twisted and he resisted the urge to bite at his nails.

“I just learned how to catch a knife by the handle. I am not sure if-”

“But that only works if the knife is thrown with a spin doesn’t it? And if your first instinct was to throw it straight then…we both know Lovre won’t do it any other way either.”

Livi never failed to flinch at Lovre’s or Suba’s name being brought up. It was a bad habit. and he didn’t failt to notice the way Luka’s eyes traced the small motion, as if he was testing him to see if he would still have the same reaction.

Thankfully, Šime came to distract Luka and end his misery for the day. Or at least Livi hoped so.

“While I am sure you are having fun torturing a baby of the team-”

“I am not even the youngest one here!” Livi protested.

Šime shot him an amused smile, but otherwise ignored him.

“You are going to be late to an important thing that I cannot talk about.”

Luka rolled his eyes.

“ _You_ weren’t even supposed to know about it. But yes, I am coming. Just let me put the knives away.”

“I am sure Livi can take care of that. I wanted a minute to talk to you.”

Šime smirked, gently tracing the scar on Luka’s exposed shoulder. Luka shivered and Livi quickly looked away, clearing his throat.

Luka instantly stepped away from Šime and Livi could swear he was blushing. It was almost fascinating how easily Šime could melt away Luka’s cold calculation that he seemed to otherwise have at all times.

Well. Almost at all times. There was one moment in particular that Livi remembered, when Luka showed and said more than he wanted.

It was few days after Livi defected and was trying to get used to the news environment. The memory came to him easily, despite being painful. He went through those memories often, scared they will fade and that he will slowly forget how he ended up here in the first place. _Why_ he ended up here in the first place.

_It’s not anybody was cruel to him after he joined them. Quite the opposite. And even Modrić-or Luka as he was told to call him-came to talk to him at one point._

_“I know you were close with Subašić before you joined us. If you already had to trade your life from someone else’s, at least you did it for someone who deserved it.”_

_Livi raised his head, studying him. Despite the fact that Livi was sitting, Luka still seemed quite short compared to him. And yet, there was something about him that just screamed “dangerous” from all the angles._

_“Is this your way of saying he is a good man?”_

_Luka chucked, shaking his head._

_“None of us would be in this kind of business, especially not that high up, if we were good men. No, Suba isn’t the good man,”_

_Luka paused, locking his eyes on Livi’s, peering into his soul, in a way._

_“But he is a loyal one. So, if you already had to take a fall for being loyal, at least you did it for someone who would do the same for you.”_

_Livi’s eyes stinged, and he looked away. This just reminded him that he will never see Suba again. Or if he will, he won’t see him as a man who raised him. He will be the enemy._

_“I used to be close to him as well,” Luka continued, grabbing Livi’s attention again._

_“What happened?”_

_Luka smiled and Livi was reminded of an wounded animal, baring it’s teeth in defense._

_“Unlike you, I didn’t leave to protect his life. I did it to protect mine."_

_Livi didn’t dare to ask any further questions, despite a hundred of them being on a tip of his tongue._

_That night, his dream involved him holding a gun, with his finger on a trigger. But it was Suba that he was aiming at, and while he knew he should pull the trigger, he stood there, frozen._

_The sound of the gunshot rang through his ears, but it didn’t come from his gun. Livi turned his head and saw Luka holding a gun. He shot Livi a smile-it held no warmness and all terror before he spoke._

_"You will have to do a lot of things to protect yourself Livi. Better get used to it.”_

_Suba’s blood was deep, dark red. It soaked through Livi’s jeans as he fell to his knees, and stained his fingers._

_When he woke up, he washed his hands and brushed his teeth several times, but the taste of cooper lingered. He didn’t fall asleep again that night._

Livi blinked, realizing he missed one part of the conversation, and that Luka was putting his blazer on. He and Šime shared one more meaningful look Livi couldn’t decipher and then Luka turned to him.

“Clean the knives and out them away. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

And with that and a salute from Šime, they were gone.

Livi sighed, quickly gathering the knives and bringing them to the building. As he walked through the familiar hallway, Livi spent a few moments pondering over the irony of how beautiful and well lit the whole establishment was.

When you imagined a place where mafia members frequented and had some of their weapons you would probably see a cold, dark place, far away from everything. Which is stupid, considering the fact that these things were usually hidden in plain sight.

Livi reached the weaponry, and started cleaning the knives one by one, easily falling into the soothing habit.

After a few minutes though, he heard the door open and quick, sure steps approach him. H knew who it was before the other man even opened his mouth.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Bruno said, looming above him.

Livi put away the last knife and stood up, trying to minimize the height difference as much as possible. He knew, logically, that Bruno wouldn’t hurt him, but a part of him wanted to be prepared and on equal footing in case something did happen.

“What are you doing here?”

Bruno smiled, lazily stretching his hand until it cupped Livi’s face and stroked it with his thumb. Livi unconsciously leaned into it, fighting against his inner voice screaming that he shouldn’t be doing this.

“Can’t I just drop by when I want to see my badass boyfriend?” Bruno whispered, brushing his lips against Livi’s.

Livi snorted, but chased after Bruno’s lips for another kiss before answering.

“Well, said boyfriend isn’t complaining…but you could persuade me to not tell Luka you are snooping around.”

Bruno pulled him closer but left just a breath of space between their lips. Livi’s heart was pounding, and Livi concentrated on that, rather than the voice in his head.

_You are leading him on. You don’t even know which side you are loyal to anymore. How could you even-_

“Well that can be arranged,” Bruno said and kissed him, stopping Livi’s thoughts from spiraling further.

However, after a few moments Livi’s phone pinged, signalling he got a message. Livi froze. It wasn’t the sound of a message from the phone he used every day. It was from the old one that he kept in his bag and used only for…

“What’s wrong?”

Livi ignored the question and Bruno’s narrowed eyes as he opened his bag and fished out the phone. He had one unread message from unsaved number, but the one he recognized. And even if he didn’t only one person contacted him through this phone.

_There is going to be a shooting at the gallery at the main square. You might want to warn Luka before it’s too late._

Dread pooling in Livi’s stomach and his mind raced. Why would Luka be at the gallery? What kind of shooting? How did Posavec know about this?

And most importantly, if Livi was to warn Luka, how would he explain how he knew about it?

Livi glanced back at Bruno, considering his options.

_You’ll knew you had to choose, sooner or later. Your loyalties can’t always be dancing on a line between them._

Livi made a decision. He just hoped it would be the right one. He turned back to Bruno.

“I need your help with something. It’s about Luka, and you can’t tell anyone.”


	2. Luka

Luka focused on the rhythmic, predictable pattern of his steps, on the gentle sound of his shoes against the ground. The smell of fresh, cold air. Anything that wasn't related to Šime and all the feelings that came with thoughts of him. 

He felt irritated at how easily the other man could completely distract him and ruin his concentration. Distraction could get him killed in this job. Or worse, it could get Šime killed. And Luka wasn't about to let that happen. 

Surprisingly, Šime was silent during their walk to the building, but when Luka was about to gather his stuff, Šime stopped him with a hand on his elbow.

"Oh no, you don't. You can't go and discuss a truce with other sovietnik in _that_ shirt."

Luka glanced down at his simple. green t-shirt. It was comfortable and frankly, he didn't see any problem with it.

"I know what are you thinking and there is a lot of problems with it. Especially with wearing that nice blazer. Thankfully for you, I got one of your button ups that go nice with it. It's waiting for you in the bathroom. 

Luka rolled his eyes, but he knew it was not a fight he could win. If he refused to put on the shirt Šime choose, he didn't doubt Šime would be above taking this shirt off Luka himself and well-that couldn't end well.

"I am surprised you didn't just hand it over and expect me to undress."

Šime smirked and step closer and Luka had to resist the urge to step backwards. He held his ground instead, choosing to hide the fact that his heart was in his throat as soon as Šime was near him. 

"I mean I certainly won't complain if you do take your shirt off here. In fact, I can help you," Šime said, his voice getting progressively lower with each word.

Luka swallowed and quickly turned his back to him to hide his blush.

"That won't be necessary," He muttered, rushing to the bathroom, but not before he heard Šime's quiet laugh.

The button up Šime choose was dark blue, and Luka recognized it as one he saw in his closet just that morning. Which could only mean...

"Did you break into my apartment again?!"

He heard a chuckle from other side of the door. 

"It was all with good intentions. Speaking of, I really love the new lock you got. It was fun figuring it out."

Luka sighed, deciding to let it slide. Unless he installs a really advanced alarm, he obviously wasn't going to keep Šime from breaking in every once in a while. 

Maybe he should just give him the key and spare them both the trouble. 

When he exited the bathroom, Šime was nowhere to be seen, and Luka figured he was probably waiting outside. Just when he was finished gathering his stuff, Luka felt a barely there touch at the pocket of his sleeve, and reacted on instict. He spun around, his hand tightly locking around the wrist of the offender, easily pinning him to the wall.

He faced a grinning Šime. Of course. He was probably the only person who would dare to try to pick pocket him, even as a joke.

"I plead not guilty," Šime said, even as Luka could clearly see his wallet held in the hand Luka was keeping in a tight grip.

"One of these days, I will break your wrist, and then this isn't going to be so funny to you."

Šime's expression transformed, as he but his lip and batted his eyelashes, giving Luka what could only be described as bedroom eyes. Luka's grip on his wrist tightened.

“Wow,” he smirked in reply without flinching, his gaze only intensifying. “Well if you're that much into being rough, go ahead, I'm not complaining..."

Luka rolled his eyes and snatched his wallet back, trying to fight his cheeks blushing, again. Šime really needed a hobby. 

“If that's all of your shenanigans-”

"Wait, before you go, could you just tell me what time it is? My watch stopped working," Šime asked, back to being serious.

Luka took a quick glance to his wrist and _\- fuck_. His watch was missing.

"You little shit."

Šime's laugh echoed through the hallway, Luka's watch dangling from his right hand-the one Luka wasn't paying attention to. When someone is left-handed, you forget they can be equally light with their right, as well. 

As Luka put his watch back, he never took his eyes off Šime, keeping track of his every movement. He wouldn't put it past him to try and steal something else. 

"You are starting to get far too handsy lately," Luka said, glaring at him. Šime smirked.

"Are you referring to me stealing your watch, or to the last job I did?"

Luka stiffened and flexed his fingers, pretending to check if he tightened the watch properly. He bit his tongue, not giving Šime the satisfaction of asking him what he wanted.

"What you do on the job is not my problem, as long as it gets done. Just stay away from my things."

Šime slunk close to Luka, but not close enough to actually touch him-which was smart. He didn't give Luka an excuse to push him away just yet. 

_Too smart_ , Luka's mind whispered as he met Šime's dark gaze. _He is going to read you like a book._

"Is that so? But I thought you'd want to know more about the job. So I was supposed to find out exactly what kind of drugs this woman was selling on the black market, right? And I had enough luck that her husband found me charming enough to-"

"I really don't care how exactly you charmed him to bed," Luka interrupted sharply, surprising even himself.

"Jealous, Modrić?"

Luka cursed the knowing look in Šime's eyes, and the way he felt about him.

He could feel the warmth of Šime's body this close, even if he didn't touch him. It would be almost too easy to cross the distance between them. To kiss him, to finally make him stop talking or thinking about anyone else that wasn't Luka.

He couldn't. Not if he planned to keep him safe. Luka took calculated risks but this - and if he was totally honest with himself, anything related to Šime - wasn't something he could be objective about. Ever.

He took a step back. 

"I don't think there is anything left to talk about here. But I am sure Dalić will want to hear your report, so you should probably head to his office.”

Luka turned, but he only made a few steps towards the door before Šime spoke.

"I didn't sleep with him. Or with any of the others in the past few months, for that matter."

Luka stopped walking abruptly, his breath and words catching almost painfully in his throat, but he didn't turn. He stood, frozen, torn by indecision.

"I only wanted your reaction. Because you keep pushing me away, and I'd love to know why." 

Luka drew in a jagged breath and finally turned, raising his eyes to meet Šime's. His eyes were a hurricane, and while Luka knew there was a peace in the middle of it, he couldn't help the way his heart pounded as it swept him away.

"We- I can't give you what you want okay? If someone found out we were together, I couldn't keep you safe, especially not on the street." 

Šime clenched his jaw, running a hand through his hair.

"That's an excuse. Besides, who said I want to be protected?"

There were many things Luka wanted to say in that moment. Like, ' _I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to you because I was careless enough to let you get close to me.'_ Or, _'I was not made to care for others, you'll get hurt.'_ Or maybe even _'Please don't make me choose between hurting you and putting you in danger.'_

_'You are breaking my heart.'_

So many things he wanted to say, but he didn’t say any of them. Instead, he swallows hard in an attempt to get the words out of his mouth, and told Šime in the flattest voice he could manage: "I just don't think it’s a good idea. It probably wouldn't last, anyway."

Šime growled under his breath and stalked towards him. For a split second, Luka thought he was going to hit him. He didn’t flinch- but more surprisingly, he didn't move out of the way, either. Because he trusted Šime. He trusted him enough not to move, and that thought scared him more than any threat of violence ever could, rooting him to the spot even more.

Šime painstakingly gently sweeps Luka's hair behind his ear, and keeps his hand there. It's warm, solid, and it keeps Luka grounded in the moment. 

"You are such a liar. What's even worse is that you are lying to yourself. Don't worry though.” He paused, leaning down to whisper directly into Luka's ear, as if telling him a secret. “If I learned anything from you, it's how to get what I want, no matter the circumstances."

Then suddenly his lips were against Luka's, brushing softly against them, his breath warm on Luka’s mouth. But before Luka could respond, either by kissing him back or pushing him away, Šime pulled away.

"I'll see you later."

And with that, he was gone. Leaving Luka to try and wrap his mind around what happened and what the hell he should do about it. 

The ride to the gallery didn't help Luka clear his head as much as he would have liked. Instead of going through all the possible scenarios this meeting could end up in, he thought about Šime. 

He parked the car and entered the gallery, still absent minded.

Šime was as stubborn as Luka and when he made a decision about something he rarely changed it. And if he was being honest, Luka didn't want to change that. He knew he should, but every time he tried to convince himself it was for the best, the memory of their brief kiss resurfaced and pushed all rational thoughts away.

Luka traced his bottom lip with his fingertips, and then, realizing what he did, quickly let his hand fall back down. Glancing around, he realized he was already at the meeting spot. And Lovre - at least that's who Luka assumed Suba would send - wasn't there yet. That was odd. 

Looking around, he noticed there were only two other people in the room, one of them probably being a guide. The man, who Luka was pretty certain was a college student, was fiddling with a blue strand in his blond hair, looking at one of the paintings. 

Luka has been distracted. That was his first mistake. His second was not checking the room immediately. He didn't notice the man near the exit putting a hand in his coat until it was too late. 

The metal of the gun flashed, and Luka lunged to the side, reacting on reflex. But not fast enough. The shot rang and for a moment he thought he avoided the bullet. His first intake of breath changed his mind, though.

Pain. Erupting quickly and growing, growing and growing. Luka grit his teeth, shifting his focus on the man with a gun. 

He moved, ready to fire again, but this time, Luka was faster. He was on the man with a flash, trying to twist the gun out of his hands. 

He jabbed him in the ribs and managed to twist his hands so the gun was pointed at the ceiling. 

The man grunted, swearing under his breath, and shoved Luka's injured shoulder hard. Luka bit into his bottom lip until he tasted blood. 

He let go of the gunman's hands suddenly and, before he had time to process that fact, punched him in the face, almost knocking him down. As he stumbled, Luka took the chance to slap the gun out of his hands, and didn't wait to see where it ended up. He ran toward the nearest door, already feeling lightheaded from the pain. _He should have brought a fucking gun._

Scanning the room, he found another door that led to the fire escape. Just then, the door behind him burst open. Luka spun around, and there was a blur of movement. He recognised the man with the gun, but before he could react, something fast and heavy flew through the air and hit the man directly in the head with an audible thud before crashing to the ground along with him. Luka stood frozen for a moment, before reminding himself to breathe.

And then he glanced to the left, where the object came from. There stood the blond haired college student he saw earlier, looking as shocked as Luka was, despite being the one who threw the object.

Luka glanced back to the other man, and saw he was knocked out cold, and by the large box no less.

"I think we should get out of here. You are bleeding badly, and God knows how long we’ve got before that guy wakes up," the student said.

Luka blinked. His mind was running in slow motion, thinking at the pace that the situation obviously required felt like walking through knee deep snow. 

"Yes, that's probably a good idea. Lead the way."

"You look really pale though...I'd offer to let you lean on me, but you’d have to promise not to attack me. Oh, and I am Tin."

Luka shook his head, trying to clear it. All of this looked more like some weird sort of nightmare by minute.

"Luka. And I can walk, just...let's keep moving. I am not sure if _he_ ," Luka gesticulated towards the unconscious man, "is alone."

Tin nodded, and turned toward the fire escaped, with Luka following close behind him. After they descended down the stairs, Luka became even more aware of the burning pain in his shoulder. As it became harder to ignore, his vision started to blur around the edges and he began to regret not accepting Tin's help.

_If he died because of not admitting he needed help, Šime was going to kill him in the afterlife. Šime...he didn't tell him how he felt. Is he even going to get a second chance?_

That was the last thought Luka had before his legs gave up and collapsed beneath him, and he fell to his knees. Through the ringing in his ears he heard Tin shout something, and a brief moment of guilt passed through him. The poor kid just wanted to do the right thing, and now he’ll have to live with watching someone die.

And then everything went black.


	3. Tin

Tin's day wasn't going to the plan.

The entire morning was weird, he felt as if he was being watched almost as soon as he opened the gallery, and it made him feel uneasy. He went through a lot of scenarios in his head, but not even in the wildest of those did someone to get shot. And yet it happened.

The man-Luka as he introduced himself-was now in an ambulance and for some reason, Tin was in there with him. He tried to justify it as wanting to make sure Luka survived, but if he was being honest...there was just something urging him to stay with him.

Tin was used to listening to his instincts-they were usually right. Well, except for that one time...he shook his head. Now really wasn't the time to think about that.

Paramedics manage to minimize Luka's bleeding, and the bullet went through his shoulder. It was only a matter of time before he woke up.

The most confusing part of this whole thing was who would want this man dead? Tin didn't like to judge a book by it's cover, but Luka was quite short, with medium length hair and he was nicely dressed. He didn't look threatening by any standards.

By the time they reached the hospital, Tin was getting restless. The sense of unease didn't seem to leave him, despite the fact that they were far away from the gallery, and the police probably already arrested that guy.

He kept pacing up and down the corridor and twirling a strand of his hair. The fact that nobody was telling him anything didn't help the anxiety growing at the hit of his stomach.

There was an itch under his skin, the need to move and do it quickly-

The sound of the news came from the radio from one of the rooms, and Tin caught a part of it.

"And our newest information confirm the fact that the shooter from the gallery escaped before the police could arrest him. The police is doing everything they can to track him down, but for now the citizens are advised..."

The doors swung open, and three armed men walked in, searching for something. For him.

He threw himself behind a nearest wall, trying not to make a sound. His breathing sped up and he could feel his heart picking up a speed as well, drumming against his rib cage as if it could run away without him.

Tin forced himself to take few deep breaths, to make his mind focus. What could he do? He didn't have a weapon and he didn't know any other exit except for the one that they from. He wasn't even sure what to do about Luka.

If one of those guys pointed a gun at the first nurse or a doctor that showed up, they are going to find out exactly which room Luka is in, real quick.

He saw a woman with cleaning supplies approaching him. That gave him an idea.

He rushed towards her, and silently pointing at men with gun, showed her to go and hide. Tin wished nothing less but to join her, but he didn't want to risk anyone else getting dragged into this. Instead, he looked over the cleaning supplies in front of him. He spotted hydrogen peroxide and stood for a moment there, holding it.

Was he really going to do this?

His mind flashed to his family-to his parents and his brother and sister. How would they feel if they never saw his again? His heart squeezed painfully in his chest and he took a deep breath.

But how would they feel if they found out he let a man die because he was too afraid to do anything? His father always said not doing the right thing. And what are we, but choices we make each day?

Tin's grip on the bottle tightened. He grabbed the broom from the cart and then pressed his back to the wall again and took a peek at the doorway.

Two men were guarding the door now, and third one was approaching Tin's hiding spot, and doing it fast. Tin opened the bottle, and just when the gunman was about to see him, he threw hydrogen peroxide, aiming for man's eyes.

The man screamed, immediately dropping his gun and covering his eyes, trying to get the liquid out of them. Tin swung the broom, hitting it over man's head. He obviously overestimated the force he needed, because the broom broke with a loud crack. _Shit._

Gunman fell to the floor with a thud, but Tin had bigger problems now. There were two other men _with guns_ , who wanted to kill him, and he didn't have the element of surprise anymore. _Lovely_.

Before Tin could even begin figuring out what to do next, the doors burst open. The man with curly hair walked in, and the two men immediately pointed their guns at him. He raised his hands. 

"Now, gentlemen, there is no need for violence. I am just here to talk. In the name of Pakhan and all that."

The two man exchanged a look, and that was all it took for a curly haired man to move. 

He was fast-if Tin blinked he could have missed him moving at all. He grabbed one man's hands, and moved him so he stood in front of him, positioning his gun so it faced the other.

And then, while the other two managed to figure how not to shoot each other, he slit the guy's throat. 

It was an ugly thing and Tin had to resist the urge to gag. The blood gushed and the man gurgled, chocking in his own blood.

The other fired, but even to Tin's untrained eyes it was obvious that his hands were shaking-he shot his partner, cutting off his desperate, dying sounds. 

The curly haired man didn't give the other a chance to try and make up for his mistake. With a fast, precise hit he broke one of his wrists, forcing him to drop the gun with a scream of pain. 

He approched him then, not carying for the way the gunman was writhing on the floor in pain. Grabbing him the hair, he janked him up, so he was looking him in the eyes.

"Zlatko Dalić sends his regards," He said, and slit the man's throat.

When he turned to him, Tin could only stand frozen, terrified. He felt his throat constricting and he could easily imagine the cold knife pressing on it. 

Instead, the man cocked his head, studying him. Tin wasn't sure if that was better or worse. Better, because he wasn't dead yet, and worse, because if he had to die, he'd rather it happened quickly.

"You are not one of them, are you? You look terrified kid."

Tin shook his head, unable to speak. His legs felt a big wobbly. He could handle violence and fight but seeing two people being murdered in front of him? That definetly crossed the line.

"Wait...you fit the description of the guy who got Luka out of gallery."

"Yes...he...he said he could walk and then. He just collapsed. I didn't do anything to him I swear," Tin said, managing to finding his voice.

The curly haired man analyzed him for a moment longer and then relaxed, giving him a blinding smile. If he hadn't just murdered two people in front of his eyes, Tin might have even called him beautiful. 

"Good. I'd hate to kill you, too. Anyway, which room is Luka in?" 

Before Tin could answer though, he was dragged back, someone's hands painfully gripping him. And then he felt the cold steel of the gun on his temple.

"Move and I will blow his fucking brain out."

Tin swallowed, watching the curly haired men closely. He didn't mean anything to him, he was just some random person who helped his friend get to the hospital. He could easily let him die and eliminate the threat _and_ a witness.

Tin was going to die.

He struggled to breath and his body felt both too hot and too cold in the same time. Why did he get involved in this? Why didn't he make sure to properly knock the guy out? Why didn't he-

The sound of a gunshot was clear, and oppressively loud after a sudden silence. Tin's ears rang, and he felt shaky.

He was alive.

Then he felt his captor's hands slipping from him, the gun falling from his limp grasp. He took a step forward, and the body fell behind him. The shot came from their backs, from the entrance.

A man with short, dark hair and a military jacket was walking towards them in quick, sure steps. Tin was so dazed from the whole thing he didn't regicionize him at first.

"Really Vrsaljko, you can't take out three men by yourself now?"

Tin would recognize that voice anywhere. Five years felt like yesterday, and he was drowning in the blue sea of his eyes again, despite the fact that he didn't even look at him yet. Ante.

"It's not my fault. He was lying unconscious when I arrived so I assumed Luka's unconventional savior already took care of him. But it seemed he only knocked him out."

Ante turned his eyes to him. Finally, finally, his mind sang, but he pushed it away. His lips felt too dry and his tongue to heavy to utter a word. Tin wasn't sure if it was from the shock or from seeing him again, but he could only watch as recognition flashed in those blue eyes.

"Tin?"

And Tin...Tin burst out laughing. He immediately put a hand over his mouth, but he couldn't stop laughter from spilling out, despite part of him being horrified.

His legs gave out under him, and Ante caught him. That only made Tin laugh harder. He imagined meeting Ante again, telling him so many things...but he never imagined seeing him again after witnessing him murdering a man and him laughing hysterically in his arms.

"I'll let you two sort this out..." Šime muttered, heading towards the wrong room. He'll probably alert half of the hospital staff by wandering around.

Then again, everyone probably heard a gunshot.

"Shhhh...you are okay, you are safe, alright? I promise nothing will happen to you while I am here," Ante whispered, rubbing soothing circles in Tin's shoulder.

He used to do that before too, when Tin was upset. The whole situation was so odd Tin's head was spinning. That little movement sent Tin's thoughts spiraling to the past.

_They were sitting on a couch, with some movie neither of them really paid attention to. Ante was rubbing circles into Tin's shoulder._

_Tin was trying no to look at Ante's face-his bloody lip and a bruise forming on his jaw would only remind him of the violence he witnessed. He didn't want to remember._

_"What are you the most afraid of?" Ante asked suddenly._

_Tin frowned, taking Ante's hand in his and lacing their fingers together._

_"I don't know...I guess never getting out of here. Being forever stuck with these people, with their view of life."_

_Ante hummed, nodding his head. Tin wasn't sure if he was agreeing with him, or just showing he was listening._

_"What are you afraid of?" Tin whispered in the dark._

_Ante stilled and the silence stretched between them for a moment. Just when Tin was about to give up, Ante spoke up._

_"Why do you think I am afraid of anything?"_

_"Everyone is afraid of something. That's what makes us human."_

_Ante's hand found his, squeezing it softly._

_"I am afraid of you waking up one morning and realizing you deserve something better. Someone better. Because you'd be right, and I couldn't stop you. I wouldn't."_

_"Never," Tin swore, squeezing his hand tighter._

In the end, it wasn't Tin who decided he deserved someone better. It was Ante. So he left. With no explanation.

Because apparently Tin wasn't worth even that.

The laughter died in his throat, leaving a lump in his throat. He wasn't going to cry, damn it. Especially not while his ex boyfriend is trying to comfort him.

Suddenly rage bubbled to the surface, and he pushed Ante away, hard. He stumbled, his confused gaze meeting Tin's furious one.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?! Who are you, and who are your friends, actually? Jesus Christ Ante, you just _killed_ someone!"

"Tin," Ante said, slowly approaching him with his hands raised, "I can explain but-"

"You can explain?! You-"

His speech was cut of by Šime grabbing his shoulder, startling him. He could see Luka not far behind him. He looked pale, and Tin could see a gaze peeking from his torn shirt, but he was awake, and he was standing.

"I am really sorry I have to do this, but we already gained too much attention without you making a scene and shouting Ante's name. Let's hope nobody heard that part."

If it was someone else, who wasn't as fast and obviously trained to keep someone in place if needed, maybe Tin could have stood a chance. This way though, he could only uselessly struggle when Šime pressed gauze with chloroform to his face.

The last thing he saw was Ante still standing there, frozen, watching the whole thing. Like it didn't even occur to him to help Tin.

_I am going to make you regret this_ , was Tin's last thought. And then he fell unconscious.


	4. Šime

Šime had a very strong dislike for hospitals, to say the least. The smell of antiseptic, the white, sterile walls, and the general sense of dread they always seemed to give off. His dislike was so strong the word _hate_ was on tip of his tongue whenever he set foot in one, or even thought about it, but he couldn't afford to have such strong feelings about anything in his job. 

Deep down, he know that perhaps it was partly because it seemed that every time he walked into one, someone died. And he didn't mean the people _he_ killed. Šime was long past the point when he would regret slitting someone's throat _. Especially not someone who wanted to hurt Luka._

He swallowed. The drum of reckless energy was still pulsing through him. The urge to hurt, maim, kill everyone involved in this. He silently vowed that when this was all over, he was going to strangle Luka himself. _Why the fuck did he go there – or anywhere, for that matter - without a gun?_

He walked casually into the first room he found, unfazed by the way the nurse paled at the sight of him. He could only imagine how he looked, his body and face splattered with blood. He took a gun out, lazily pointing it at her.

"It's in both of our interests that you survive, and that I don't have to use this thing. So, I am looking for a friend. Short, slim, with longish blond hair. Sounds familiar?"

She nodded, and only then did Šime notice that she must have been an intern. Something like regret passed through him, but he pushed it away. Every second longer it takes for him to find Luka is a second spared for someone else to get there first. If the girl was smart, she'd listen to him and it would go smoothly. If not... well. This whole thing couldn't become much messier than it already was.

"Lead the way. If you scream or try to run, I am going to shoot you and show you as an example to the second nurse I'll find to help me. Got it?"

She paled even more, looking like she might faint, but thankfully she didn't. Šime hated hysterical people. They gave him a headache.

"Yes sir. He is in room 206, if I’m thinking of the right person."

Šime signaled her to exit the door. As promised, she quietly led him through the corridor and to the room 206. Šime relaxed a bit, reassured that he wouldn't have to kill her.

She opened the door, and there he was. Luka. Šime's heart squeezed in his chest. The harsh fluorescent light only made him look paler, sicklier. The gauze on his should was soaked with blood, and Šime clenched his fists as he looked at it.

As if he sensed Šime's presence, Luka's eyes blinked open, immediately focusing on him. He blinked once again, and then frowned.

"Well, this is a weird one. You aren't usually covered in blood in my dreams."

Šime took a sharp breath, biting inside of his cheek. Luka's face held such a honest, vulnerable expression it made him wish for impossible things.

It made him wish for a calm breeze on his face from an open window, the smell of coffee in the morning, and being able to just walk through a few rooms to find Luka at any time. To kiss him, right this second, first thing in the morning and any other time he wanted, without having to look over his shoulder.

Šime's insides recoiled as he snapped out of his fantasy, and he mentally slapped himself. _What kind of wish is that?_ He should know better.

"You are not dreaming," he said, trying to make his voice sound as sharp as it did earlier.

He turned to the nurse again.

"Give me the key to this room. And you” - he glanced at Luka - "get dressed. We are leaving."

Šime could feel Luka's burning gaze on the nape of his neck when he turned from him. He didn't have the time to talk to him properly, and it was for the best. For the first time, Šime didn't trust himself to keep his cool. He was one step away from starting a shouting match.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?! Who are you, and who are your friends, actually? Jesus Christ Ante, you just _killed_ someone!"

By the sound of it, the kid from the gallery shared his sentiment, but not his self restraint. Which was another reason they needed to hurry.

Luka put his torn button-up on, and Šime quietly mourned the loss of it. It was such a nice shirt, and before it was torn and bloodied. it looked amazing on Luka.

The nurse gave him the key and Šime fished out a small bottle from the pocket of his jacket. The nurse swallowed audibly, digging her nails into her palms. Šime smirked, but managed to stifle his laughter.

"Calm down. It's chloroform – but it's not for you. I'm just going to lock you in this room for a bit to buy us some time. Give me some gauze or something to put this on."

She walked over to a first aid box in the corner, never taking her eyes off Šime, and handed held out a thick white dressing without a word. Without breaking the silence, Šime took it with a hint of a smile, and Luka gave him a look. Šime knew that look, it was his "what-the-hell-are-you-doing-now" look. Well, perhaps if Luka didn't consistently prove that his plans sucked, maybe Šime would tell him about his.

Taking the key in one hand and the gauze in another, he exited the room, Luka trailing behind him still looking bemused and more delicate than usual. Šime locked the door behind them, and stared at the key for a moment. Then, after a moment of consideration, he walked over to the first open window he saw and, with a lightning fast flick of the wrist, he threw it.

"Did you just throw the key out of the window?!" Luka asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, Luka, of course not, you must be hallucinating from the blood loss,” Šime replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I actually swallowed the key. Now that's cleared up, let's move."

Luka rolled his eyes but followed him through the corridor. Šime opened the door and slipped inside silently, a skill he had perfected over the years. He braced himself and walked over to the gallery kid, grabbing his shoulder. The boy - or well, the man, he supposed, processing for the first time that he was actually slightly taller and broader than Šime himself - flinched, but Šime didn't ease his grip.

The need for violence burned through him again and he resisted the urge to just knock the kid out with a precise hit on the head. He saved Luka, and that was worth something.

“I am really sorry I have to do this, but we already gained too much attention without you making a scene and shouting Ante's name. Let's hope nobody heard that part.”

And then he pressed the chloroform-soaked gauze to his face. The guy struggled, but it was nothing compared to what Šime was used to, and after a few moments his body went limp in his arms.

Šime didn't miss the way Ante clenched his fists and was obviously resisting the urge to stop him and defend... what was his name again?

“Since you seem so keen on protecting him, you can carry him to the car,” Šime said, almost tossing him towards Ante, who caught him, scowling at Šime.

Šime rolled his eyes.

“And don't think you're getting away without explaining _that_ mess. I am just in a hurry to get out of here. But there will be plenty of time during the ride to the safe house.”

“Safe house?” Luka asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Yes. We can't afford to be potentially followed to the main house. And you-” Šime sharply swept his gaze from Luka's pale face to his injured shoulder, and torn clothes, “need to be somewhere safe. That's the number one priority here.”

With that, Šime turned and walked towards the exit, not checking if they followed him. If they really wanted to die in this stupid hospital, then fine. Šime wasn't about to hang around and join them.

When all three, or, well, technically four, of them finally reached the car, Šime was already nervously glancing around the parking lot. They had been here for way longer than he would have liked.

Livi was waiting for them, of course, his fingers anxiously tapping on the steering wheel. His shoulders relaxed a bit when he caught the sight of Šime, and his eyes widened when he saw Ante carrying someone. Šime should really teach him how to hide his emotions better.

“How do you plan on all of us fitting in car, with Tin unconscious?” Ante asked sharply, but Šime didn't even turned towards him.

“Put him in the trunk, hell, tie him to the roof for all I care. As long as you do it fast.”

He could see the way Ante's jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. Ante was known for his lack of reaction, but for some reason he was slipping... that was the most emotion Šime had seen in his notoriously stony face since he met him five years ago. _Interesting_.

Šime took the front seat, which left Ante and Luka in the backseat, with Ante arranging... what had Ante called him? Tim? to sit between them, with his head leaning on Ante's shoulder. It looked almost domestic, forcing Šime to bat away his own daydreams once again.

As if he'd read his mind, Luka caught Šime's gaze in rear mirror, his honey eyes trapping him for a moment. Šime pursed his lips, pushing the worry, the anger and everything else back down. There will be time to talk, but it wasn't now.

“Drive. You know the way,” he told Livi flatly, tearing his eyes away from Luka's and looking ahead.

When the car started and they left the parking lot without another incident, Šime turned his gaze towards Ante.

“So... care to enlighten us as to how you and Tim know each? And why he freaked out earlier?”

Ante shifted, turning his eyes to the side window, obviously uncomfortable with Šime's prying. This was nothing new, if they really thought about it no one truly knew anything about Ante, but there was something different about it this time. Instead of cold and indifferent, he seemed... cagey. His look was one Šime had seen dozens of times on the faces of people he was seconds away from forcing a secret out of.

“His name is _Tin_ , with an N, not Tim. And we went to the same high school. But that was in another part of the country. I haven’t seen or heard from him in years, and I genuinely have no idea what he’s doing here.”

Šime shrugged. _That_ really wasn't the part he was concerned about. Tim- _Tin_ \- was just at the wrong place and at the wrong time. With too good intentions. Šime glanced to his unconscious face and felt himself warming to him, just a little.

_If he wasn't there, Luka would probably be dead._

Šime shook his head, chasing that thought away. He really shouldn't think of that. He couldn't, not if he was to keep up his professional facade while Ante and Livi were around.

"It looked a bit more personal than that to me."

Ante crossed his arms over his chest, and Šime knew he hit a nerve. It was like poking a bear with a stick to get a reaction. Ante was such an enigma because he never talked about anything from the past. But when someone just waltzes in like this... well, things get a little harder to hide.

"Look, while it's great that Tin here saved Luka's life, if you think I will hesitate to put a bullet through his brain if he is the faintest bit suspicious, you are gravely mistaken. So if you want him to live, you better start talking."

Ante swallowed, and Šime let the silence stretch, knowing Ante would break under pressure. If he felt better pretending he actually weighed up both options, Šime wasn't about to break his illusion. But since a big part of his job was to read people and find their weaknesses... he knew he had him the moment he said Tin's name.

"Fine. We used to date. Back in high school. But everything I said is true, I haven’t seen him in years, and he isn't dangerous by any means, I swear. He's just a fucking artist, for God's sake!"

Šime raised his eyebrows.

"That artist of yours knocked out two trained men with guns, without even giving them a chance to fight back. Maybe you want to try that again."

Ante chewed on his bottom lip, deciding how much he could say.

"That's because I trained him in self defense, okay? But there is _a_ _reason_ he didn't try to fight them. If he was any kind of threat, don't you think he would have been able to fight you earlier?"

That was a fair point. To be fair, Šime didn't really think Tin was dangerous, but after all that had happened today, he wasn't about to let any potential threat slide.

"Alright, I trust you, and that means I trust him. But for now, he won't be able to leave the safe house. He saw our faces and until I am certain he won't go straight to the police, he isn't going anywhere."

Ante nodded, but he didn't relax. Šime supposed he was aware he’d be the one responsible for keeping Tin from getting out. Šime glanced to Luka again, the way the setting sun painted his face and hair into red tones and he felt a pang in his heart. He quickly averted his gaze. He definitely wasn't envious of Ante's task.

Livi was quiet during the entire ride, his eyes fixed on the road. Despite the fact that his baby face usually made him seem a few years younger than he was, the look in his eyes was that of a man four times his age.

The rest of the ride was spent in loaded silence, and when the car finally stopped, Livi jumped out as if the thing was about to explode, but Šime stayed in the car a moment longer, just watching the way Ante gently eased Tin out and scooped him up.

Luka would never let him do that, no matter how injured he was. Because his reputation was more important.

_No, because he doesn't want anyone to know about you, how he feels about you. Because he doesn't love you. At least not as much as you love him._

Šime grit his teeth and exited the car, making sure he doesn't glance in Luka's direction. He knew Luka would struggle to open the door without jostling his shoulder, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing that Luka wouldn't see as an implication of weakness, anyway.

Ante was already at the door, with Tin in his arms, and Luka wasn't far behind. Livi went to joining them, but Šime stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"I am not going to ask you how you knew Luka was going to be in danger, because I keep my word. But if I find out you had something to do with this... believe me, you'll have far bigger problems than Dalić finding out about it. Got it?"

Livi held his gaze, unwavering. Sometimes Šime let himself slip and forget exactly who Livi was, but in moments like this, he would be sharply reminded with perfect clarity of just who he was dealing with... and who raised him.

"Got it. I mean, you were pretty clear. I just find it insulting that you think I would be dumb enough to plan Luka's assassination and then tell you about it beforehand."

Šime snorted, the weight lifting of his shoulders a bit. He was really starting to like Livi. He really didn't want to kill him.

"Okay, you can go see your lover boy now. Ante and I can handle it from here."

Livi gave him an honest smile, and the ancient look in his eyes disappeared for a brief moment. He actually looked 23, young and carefree as he should be. Not that Šime knew anything about that from personal experience.

As he climbed the stairs to the door and made his way to Luka's room, he let his mind wander back, to when he was 16.

_The air was crisp and cold, the wind sharply making it's way through people's coats and making them tremble. Šime liked that kind of weather._

_It meant people were walking quickly, and paying less attention to their surroundings, eager to get away from the cold. That made his job so much more easier._

_Stumbling or colliding into people was his specialty. Supporting them with their right hand a apologizing profusely, making it seemed like an unfortunate accident on his part. A misstep. Nobody ever payed attention to his left hand._

_Nobody before Luka._

_Šime collided with a short boy with blond hair. He was nothing special from afar - he looked around Šime's age, maybe a few years older but it was hard to be sure, considering his height - but his clothes were nice enough for Šime to try to get his wallet. Or watch. Or both, if he had enough time._

_What he didn't expect was for the boy to move frighteningly fast as soon as Šime fished out his wallet, tightly gripping his wrist. Šime's breath caught in his throat. Nobody caught him stealing before._

_He stared at the boy, his honey eyes reminding him of the light of a candle. Lighting up a room if used properly, and burning down the entire house if you got too careless._

_"I plead not guilty?" Šime whispered, his voice trembling._

_The other boy let out a startled laugh, shaking his head a bit. He gave Šime a long, calculating look, before letting go of his wrist._

_"Would you like a job? One that could use your... expertise?"_

Šime came back to the present, grounding himself with the feeling of a cold steel knob in his hand. He took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Luka was sitting on a chair next to the bed, trying to change his dressing himself. Šime watched him fumble with the gauze for a moment, and then stepped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

"Let me," he said, and Luka flinched.

He didn't hear him. That was unusual - Luka was always aware of the smallest sounds and movement. It was a rare occurrence for Šime to sneak up to him even when he tried.

Šime pushed away his worry and stepped closer, slowly, making sure not to make any sudden movements.

"I am not some scared animal," Luka snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and immediately wincing in pain.

Šime didn't answer. He stopped behind Luka, and their eyes met in the mirror. Šime carefully brushed Luka's hair to the left side, so he could take a better look at his injured shoulder.

It was more or less a clean wound, or rather two, where the bullet passed right through the shoulder, but the marks were still startlingly red next to Luka's pale skin.

"No, you are not. But that doesn't mean _I_ can't be careful with you. Really, it says more about me than you."

Luka swallowed and kept quiet and Šime took that as his agreement to change his dressing. He wrapped the bandage in silence, even making a conscious effort not to breathe too loudly in the stillness, and when he was almost finished Luka spoke.

"I got distracted. I should have noticed that man sooner, but I didn't. I got distracted, because of _you_ , and it almost cost me my life."

Šime finished wrapping the gauze and made sure it was secured before taking a step back.

"Then tell me to leave."

"What?" Luka asked, sitting up straighter in the chair. 

Šime met his eyes, amber and brown opal clashing.

"Tell me to leave. If I am really such a burden, such a threat to your life - then tell me to leave. I can promise you, I will walk out of that door without another word and you'll never see me again. I won't make this hard on you, if that's what you want, say so and I'm gone."

Luka stared, swallowed. Šime almost caved when he saw his lost, desperate look he gave him. 

"You know I can't do that." 

Šime closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, before opening them again, catching Luka's eyes once again.

"Then ask me to stay. Just... just for God's sake, Luka, make up your mind already. Because I feel like I'm trying to reach for smoke here and as much as it would hurt losing you... I feel like I already am. So just make a choice. For both of our sakes."

Luka turned, opened his mouth and closed it. And then nodded.

"Do I... do I need to make a decision now?"

Everything in Šime wanted to scream: _YES! We have been dancing around this for years, how much more time could you possibly need?! Just tell me what you want already!_

But he bit his tongue, and smoothed his face into his usual calm, collected facade.

"No, of course not. But you should do it soon. Especially considering…" Šime paused, sweeping his eyes over Luka's shoulder and then back to his face, "…these new developments. I'd imagine things will get quite messy soon."

Luka pursed his lips and nodded once again, and Šime turned on his heel, ready to leave.

"Wait!"

Šime spun back around, finding Luka on his feet now. Before Šime could ask what was wrong, or say anything at all, Luka stepped closer and his lips were on Šime's.

Šime gasped, and Luka got even closer, tangling his hands into Šime's messy curls. His breath was warm in Šime's mouth, and unlike this morning he tasted of blood. Šime chose to ignore that, and kissed him back, hard.

It was as if a dam had been broken, and they couldn't stop kissing each other. Even when they parted for breath, one of them would press smaller, quick kisses to the other's lips. Šime because he wanted to make sure Luka was alive, and breathing and okay, and Luka because he wanted to make sure he didn't waste his chance this time around.

Finally, they stopped, their foreheads leaning against each other, and panting for air. The silence was different now – still charged, but no longer uncomfortable. They didn't have to say anything to understand what the other was thinking.

"I don't want you to leave. But I... I don't know how to do _this_ either. I don't know how to keep you safe, hell, apparently I don't even know how to keep myself safe. And you are putting yourself at a higher risk now, just by being around me."

Šime sighed, playing with a lock of Luka's silky hair as he considered the answer.

"Nobody is promised safety, especially not in our line of business. And we'll figure out the rest. As long as we are together."

Luka opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, Šime kissed him again. It was a quick, bruising kiss and Šime smiled against Luka's mouth as he gasped.

"You need to get some rest. You almost died. Trust me, I'll find out more about what happened by the time you wake up. Okay?"

Luka still looked uncertain, unused to not doing everything on his own. Even when others did things without him, he knew _exactly_ what they were doing. This required trust. Both Šime and Luka trusted very few people, but they both knew that if this was going to work, they needed to trust each other completely.

"Okay."

Šime kissed Luka's forehead, and left without another word. Right before he closed the door, he glanced back at Luka and found him still standing where he left him, looking right back at him. When Šime closed the door with a soft click, he felt as if he lost something precious.

Which was ridiculous. Wasn't it? Well, it was, until Šime's phone rang.

He didn't have the number saved in his phone - that would be stupid for a multitude of reasons - but he memorized that number long time ago. It usually showed on Luka's phone though, not Šime's.

"Vrsaljko," Šime answered, his voice cold, almost robotic.

The person on the other end of the phone chuckled darkly, and the hairs on Šime's arms stood on end. There was something about that voice that never failed to make Šime shudder and make something cold and heavy settle in his stomach.

"Yes, I am aware. I just heard about Luka's... incident. I assume he is alright, since you answered the call?"

Šime hated the fact the other man knew that, if Luka died, Šime would already be on a killing mission. Šime was very much used to being the reader, not the metaphorical book, and it made him uncomfortable that someone could so effortlessly read even the chapters he made an effort to keep glued shut.

"Yes, he's alive."

"Good. I also presume you don't have any information other than what I heard from Livaković and Rebic?"

Šime's breath caught in his throat. Lying to Dalić was never wise. But hell if Šime was going to break his promise to Livi.

"No."

"I need you to do something for me," Dalić continued, brushing off the previous topic, "now that Luka is injured. I am sure Luka won't be out of action for long, but while he is, you are one of few people I trust to be... discreet."

_Shit_. This couldn't be good.

Šime knew something was very, very wrong. He knew that Dalić was doing this behind Luka's back for a reason far more important than him being injured, even before he said anything.

"I am listening."

"I need you to arrange a hit for me... I just found out who ordered the shooting at the gallery."

Šime could barely hear anything over the static in his ears. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and the gentleness and suspicion bled out of him. Only rage was left. He gripped the phone tighter, until he thought the screen might crack.

"Who?" he hissed through clenched teeth. He knew that Dalić wasn't the type for dramatic pauses, so the eternal wait for the other man to answer was probably, in reality, a split second. Finally, he spoke.

"Danijel Subašić."

And in that moment, as he remembered stories of Luka's stories from his childhood, and him and Suba saving each other's lives before they join opposite mafias, Šime was certain of one thing. Things would never be the same again.


	5. Livi

Livi was pacing. He was well aware that Bruno was getting more agitated by the second, but he couldn't help it. It helped him think. And there was one question that kept bothering him.

_ How did Josip know there would be a shooting at the gallery?  _

Josip was only a byki, and he wouldn't know if someone from high up ordered an assassin. Unless, it wasn't an assassin, and someone from the mafia decided to do the job themselves, which either meant it was personal, or they didn't want anyone to find out. Or both. 

Livi shivered, despite the fact that he wasn't cold. He could only imagine this kill being personal for one person. Suba.

He closed his eyes and pulled on his hair, hoping the pain will make him concentrate. 

_ Why would he want to kill Luka, after all this time? What could have Luka possible have done that-  _ suddenly that train of thought ground to a halt and Livi froze with it, stopping his pacing. 

He started training Livi. Throwing knives, catching them. Making Livi show him how Lovre and Suba taught him to fight. He was training him to fight them. 

And Livi talked about it to Josip. 

Livi leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling sick. Luka was using him, preparing him to take out people he used to call his family. And Josip... Josip might have reported everything he said to Suba. 

Livi was certain his legs were going to give out under him.

"Livi? Livi!" Bruno's voice and his hand on his shoulder got him out of his frozen state. 

He turned around, but just enough to hug Bruno and bury his face in his neck. He willed himself to concentrate on Bruno's heartbeat, to let it calm him down, but he couldn't stop his thoughts from spiraling. 

If Suba planned this,and Josip knew he wanted Luka dead, why send him a message? Was it regret or...

They didn't know about Bruno. They didn't know Bruno would convince him to call Šime. So what did they know? 

Livi closed his eyes, trying to see himself through his best friend's eyes. What would he expect him to do? What would Livi do, two years ago?

He would go alone. And arrive just in time to be killed as well. 

This time his legs did give out and he clung desperately to Bruno not to fall. Bruno caught him, carefully carrying him to the couch, and then lifted his chin, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

"Please tell me what's going on, Dominik. You are scaring me."

Damn. Livi knew it was serious when his boyfriend used his full name, but as much as he wanted to share everything with him, he didn't even know where to begin. And should he even tell him? What if Bruno gets killed as well, just because Livi got him involved in all this?

"Don't do that."

Livi snapped his gaze back to Bruno, raising his eyebrows. He still wasn't sure if he could speak without his voice betraying him.

"Don't shut me out and deal with whatever is going through your head alone. And before you say it, I don't care if you think it's better for me that way - that's not your decision to make. I am your boyfriend, please let me in. Let me help you."

And Livi told him everything. He didn't plan to, but when he started talking, it all just poured out of him, and as he talked he realized how many secrets he was actually carrying. 

He told Bruno why he really defected, how the only other people who knew that were Luka, Dalić and Josip. How he and Josip stayed in touch. How he suspected Luka had ulterior motives for training him. And how he thinks Suba wanted Luka dead because of that.

The silence rang loudly in Livi's ears after he finished his speech. He was too scared to look at Bruno, but the longer the silence stretched, the more his anxiety grew. 

"So what do you plan to do?" 

Of all the questions Livi was anticipating, that was not one of them.

"What? After all that, that's the only thing you are going to ask?"

Bruno shrugged, and squeezed Livi's fidgeting hands between his.

"That's the only one that matters right now. I mean, I'm not going to lie, this is a lot to take in. But I trust you, especially after you trusted me with all of this. But, from what you told me, we can't really trust anyone else, and we need to act quickly. So... what do you plan to do?"

Livi chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. He grabbed his phone - the one he used to talk to Josip. But he didn't dial the number or start typing a message. He just stared at it for what seemed like an eternity. 

Bruno stood up, letting go off Livi's hands. Livi already felt cold.

"If you'd prefer me to leave so you can talk to him..."

"No!" Livi shouted, startling both of them. 

Bruno stared at him, willing him to tell him what he decided. What he wanted. Whose side he was choosing. Livi was so tired of choosing.

"I am just..." Livi sighed, ruffling his hair. “I am so tired of choosing." 

Unable to bear the sight of the screen any longer, Livi threw the phone. It fell to the floor with a loud thud, followed by a silence that stretched for a long, long moment as he stared at it.

And then Bruno walked over and gently took Livi's hand in his, rubbing soothing circles in his palm.

"Then don't. Just choose this… choose us. There is no right or wrong here anymore. We both know better than that."

Livi turned his head to the side, trying to make sure that he got what Bruno was saying.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... we could disappear. We need two days max, just to pack everything and leave. We’ll figure out where we’re going on the way, and I can easily get us everything we need."

Livi met Bruno's fierce, unwavering gaze. Livi saw Bruno as his anchor, but he sometimes forgot he could be a storm as well. 

"But your sister..."

Bruno smiled, shaking his head.

"It would be better for her to get away from this city as well. Somewhere safe. Somewhere where there are no sides to pick." 

Livi could see that life, so perfectly clearly in front of his eyes. A life that he wanted so badly growing up. And Bruno was offering him all that on a silver plate. And yet...

Livi squeezed Bruno's hand tighter.

"I want that, I swear I do. This isn't a no. Just a not yet."

Bruno nodded, but Livi could see his face fall slightly. To anyone else, the change in expression would have been undetectable, but Livi knew each feature of this man’s face like the back of his hand, and the almost imperceptible droop of his eyes and mouth sent a pang of guilt through Livi’s chest. He closed the distance between them and kissed Bruno slowly, trying to put all of his love and gratitude into that kiss. Once they parted, Livi pressed their foreheads together, looking intensely into Bruno’s eyes.

"I just need to know first. I need to know if my best friend lied to me all this time. And I need to know if my dad-" Livi realized his mistake, and quickly tried to swallow a lump in his throat, "if Suba ordered a hit on me. I need to know, before I move on. Or I will carry my past wherever we go." 

It was Bruno who kissed him this time. Livi pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. He wanted to have this moment frozen in time and keep it forever. He wanted to forget about right and wrong, about choices, about a murky past and uncertain future and everything inbetween. Just for one perfect moment.

Neither of them said anything for a moment after they parted. Bruno gently stroked Livi's cheek with his thumb and then pressed one more quick kiss against his lips. 

“So for the third damn time,” Bruno said with a hint of a smile, “what's the plan?"

Livi grabbed the phone from the floor and took a deep breath. 

"First, we find out what's really going on. One way or another."

***

Livi tried not to think about all the things that could go wrong. If Josip suspected anything and didn’t arrive alone, the whole plan would fall to pieces.

He looked around the apartment while he waited. It looked almost the same as it did when he left it two years ago, just emptier and with dust heavily settled over everything. The comfortable brown couch stood in the same place, and while some of the furniture was turned over, probably in search for clues after his disappearance, it still looked too similar to how he left it for his liking.

The front doors opened with a soft click and Livi froze in his hiding spot, tensely waiting. Josip entered the room and Livi held his breath for a heartbeat, and then another. Nobody came in after him. Livi exhaled.

And then he grabbed his gun, and ignoring the guilt churning in his stomach, pointed it at Josip, stepping into the room. 

"Don't move," Livi said, making Josip spin around to face him.

He eyed the gun in Livi's steady hands, and Livi could practically feel him calculating the distance between them and how fast he could disarm him. Too bad Livi counted on that.

"Don't bother. We both know I can shoot much faster than you can move, and I don't think you want a bullet wound."

Josip pressed his lips into a thin line, slowly raising his arms in surrender. 

"What the fuck are you doing, Dominik?"

Livi almost laughed at the use of his name - no one except Bruno really used it, unless they were mad at him. He supposed pointing a gun at someone was a good enough reason to be mad, though.

"Getting some answers. How did you know about the shooting at the gallery?"

Josip paled, and his hands twitched, as if he was resisting the urge to fidget. Or reach for Livi's gun.

"Didn't we have an agreement about not asking each other about what we do and what we know? So no one can gain the upper hand?"

Livi cocked his gun, and the sound rang in the silence. 

"Tell me how you knew about the shooting or the next question I will ask will be if you'd prefer me to shoot you in the leg or in the arm first."

Josip clenched his jaw, and focused on Livi, analyzing him for a moment. Probably calculating how likely he was to pull the trigger. 

Livi felt numb. The only thing he concentrated on was the weight of the gun in his hands, and his steady breathing. Nothing more, nothing less. It was a trick Suba taught him when was younger. Focus on things you can control, and let them ground you. 

"I was supposed to be a backup, if anything happened. The plan changed last minute," Josip bit his lip, "but something was off about the whole thing. 

"Off how?"

"Off like... it was very rushed. Sloppy almost. Kalinić wanted it to be over with quickly-"

Josip's speech got interrupted by the doors slamming open and Livi, in his startled state, took about two seconds to turn and aim his gun at the intruder and shoot. Too slow. 

He missed. 

The man moved so fast Livi didn't recognize him at first. Not until they both stood opposite each other, each looking down the barrel of the other’s gun. 

His long blond hair pulled into a ponytail and the way he held a gun were unmistakable. Domagoj Vida.  _ Shit. _

"Livi. Put the gun down. You really don't want to make this worse for yourself."

Livi tightened his hold on his weapon.

"Make what worse for myself? What exactly did I do to make you decide to point your gun at me?"

If he was being honest, he was stalling. It wasn't hard to guess why Domo was here. Livi acted too suspicious lately, leaving too many clues for someone to pick up.

Knowing information he shouldn't, then showing up with backup to save Luka from the hospital... he was getting sloppy and someone - either Luka or Dalić, he supposed - caught on.  _ Stupid.  _

"Luka told me to keep an eye on you. That you might be getting information from people," Domo titled his head towards Josip, "that you shouldn't even talk to anymore. And it seems he was right."

Livi clenched his teeth, studying the man in front of him. He’d seen Domo fight a few times, so he knew what he was dealing with. He was brutal and reckless, but his main goal was to cause damage. Which meant his blows wouldn't be as precise as Livi's. If he could give a few precise hits fast enough...

"He didn't specify if I should deliver you and your friend dead or alive though. Which is unusual, but I’m taking it to mean it’s up to me, so you might think about what you are going to do."

Livi's blood froze in his veins as something clicked in his head. There was no way Luka could have said that. Livi spoke to Šime before all of this mess and Luka was asleep. And if he did that after he woke up, there’s no way Domo would have the time to follow him here.

Someone was setting him up. Livi couldn't think past the roaring of blood in his ears. Josip's words from earlier echoed in his ears. Kalinić. His brother was somehow involved in all this, but he couldn't have ordered Domo… not unless he had help from someone from their side. 

Livi pushed all of his thoughts and suspicions aside, acknowledging that he really didn't have the time to think about this right now. He needed to focus on keeping himself - and possibly Josip – alive for now. 

Domo glanced at Josip for the briefest second, but that was all Livi needed. 

He threw himself forward, knocking Domo's gun out of his hands, but losing his in the process as well. They both scrambled for their weapons and landed clumsily on the floor with Livi on top of Domo.

"Run!" he shouted to Josip, which earned him a hard punch in the mouth for his moment of distraction.

Pain spread through his jaw and he tasted blood from his split lip. He jabbed Domo in the ribs with his elbow, and by the crack and the grunt of the pain, he probably broke at least one. 

Domo retaliated by kicking him square in the solar plexus, and Livi gasped, trying to catch his breath through the sharp pain. Domo pushed him off, and Livi rolled on the floor, barely getting up in time to stop Domo's next blow.

He blocked the punch, but wasn't fast enough to stop Domo from grabbing his wrist as he did so, slamming his left hand to the wall. The sickening crack and pain that erupted from his wrist told him it was broken.  _ Well shit _ . 

Livi reached blindly with his right hand, grabbing the first thing on the counter next to him and slamming it into his opponent’s head. He saw that it had been a vase, but it shattered as it connected with Domo, sending shards of ornately painted ceramic clattering to the floor. 

Livi pushed him away hard and Domo stumbled, shaking his head to stay conscious. Livi didn't give him a chance to recover - he jumped, spun in the air and kicked Domo right in the head. The blond dropped to the floor with a loud thud, and then there was silence. Livi's breath was ragged, but he didn't have the time to get it under control. 

He grabbed his and Domo's gun from the floor and ran to the door. Bruno was waiting for him with a parked car and his eyes widened when he saw his boyfriend. Livi realised that he probably looked awful, with blood on his face and his left wrist hanging limply. 

"Drive!" Livi ordered as soon as he sat in the car and Bruno complied, eyeing him nervously.

Bruno was about to say something but Livi interrupted him again. 

"Not to our apartment. Drive to the safehouse where Luka and Ante are. If I am right, they are equally in danger as I am."

Livi reached for his phone, hissing in pain as he remembered his left hand wasn't functional at the moment. 

"What danger? Livi, what's going on?" Bruno asked, gripping the wheel tighter. 

"No time to explain, sorry" Livi said, dialing Šime's number, "I need to call Šime and tell him he needs to be there as well. Something is very, very wrong."

Before Livi could press call though, something else happened. Josip was calling him. He never called him on this phone unless it was an emergency, but Livi supposed this whole situation was one. He answered immediately.

"Josip? Are you alright?"

"Yes," The other man's voice was breathless from running, "I needed to check if  _ you _ were alive. I am almost at the main house now but, God, Livi what the fuck was that?"

Livi sighed, not being sure what to say. How could he even explain when he wasn't sure what was going on?

"I am not sure myself. Just...be careful, alright?"

"There is something else that I need to tell you. I remembered-"

Josip's voice was suddenly cut off, and Livi could hear distant voices and shouting from the background. What was going on?

"Who is this?" a different voice asked sharply.

Livi's heart stopped for a moment, his blood turning to ice. This voice was all too familiar… a voice that he had been hearing almost his whole life. The voice of his brother. Lovre.

"Lovre?" 

The question escaped him without his permission and he wanted to kick himself instantly?  _ What kind of stupid idiot... _

"Livi," Lovre's voice was icy, and he didn't ask, he knew it was him, "I see you found a way to keep tabs on us. Congratulations."

Livi gripped the phone tighter, his breath catching in his throat. Hearing his brother’s cold, detached tone hurt him more than he thought possible, even after all this time. 

"I hope you got all the information you needed. Your friend Posavec might be... otherwise preoccupied for a while. A little tied up, one could say."

Livi could practically hear the sadistic smirk on Lovre’s face, and it sent a shiver down his spine. Images of Josip being tortured flashed through his mind, making him feel so nauseous that he thought he was going to throw up right then and there.

"But since I’m such a good brother, I'll give you a choice. If you show up in the next 48 hours, I'll let him live. If you don't... well I’m sure you get the idea, but I'll send you a video just to make sure."

Livi breathed in sharply, biting his already split lip until blood was all he could taste. His head was spinning.

"Lovre, wait! You can't-"

A dull beep told him the line had gone dead, and he let the phone slip through his shaking fingers _. God, what had he done? _

He glanced at Bruno, who, by the look on his face, was definitely still looking for answers of his own. His mind quickly went through Luka, Šime and Ante's possible reactions, and realised that he knew what he had to do. He picked up the phone from the footwell and opened a new text message… Bruno couldn't hear this conversation. 

_ I need your help. Text me as soon as you wake up.  _

Livi had hoped to be able to talk to Luka in person about this, but the way things were going, he didn't want to risk it. 

Livi smiled bitterly. Who better to ask how to fight his brother, than the person who’d been training him for that exact situation for months?

With that thought, Livi's exhaustion and injuries finally caught up with him and he fell back into his seat, drifting off into a turbulent sleep.


	6. Tin

Tin opened his eyes and blinked a few times. His eyes still felt unusually heavy. How long did he have before his next class-

Suddenly, the events from earlier that day came crashing back to him and he jumped on his feet. He immediately stumbled, grabbing the couch he was lying on for support. 

He glanced around the unfamiliar apartment, trying to find an exit, when suddenly:

"You are awake."

Tin turned to the voice, his eyes landing on Ante who was leaning on the doorway of what Tin assumed was the kitchen.

"Not thanks to you," Tin hissed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ante sighed, dragging his hand over his face. Tin closed his hands into fists under his crossed arms, pushing away the urge to punch Ante in the nose and actually give him a reason to look at him like he was doing something stupid.

"What did you expect me to do? Honestly, Šime knocking you out was a better option. The alternative was him putting a bullet through your brain."

Tin really didn't have the time to process that. Or how many times he almost died today. Was it even still today?

He glanced to the window, the way the sun was slowly setting. That probably meant he was out for a few hours but it was still the same day. 

"I’m guessing the other option would have been more convenient for you."

Ante snaps his eyes to his, and he looks almost surprised? Angry? Tin can't tell and that bothers him for some reason. He used to be able to tell how Ante was feeling just by the way he fidgeted with his hands or the ways his lips twitched at the corners. Now he is just a blank canvas Tin is trying to fill with colors he once knew.

"How can you say that? I- of course I didn't want him to kill you!"

Tin bit his lip, but he couldn't stop bitterness from pouring out.

"You may not want him to kill me, but if he decided to do it, would you have even tried to stop him?"

Silence. That was more than enough of an answer.

Tin snorted, sitting down on a couch and letting his head fall into his hands. What was he doing? Why did it matter if Ante cared if he lived or not? He had to get a grip. There were other, more important things he should be worrying about. 

"Who are you, really, Ante? And your friends as well? Who is Luka, if that’s even his name, that man I saved at the gallery?"

Ante pursed his lips together, and oh, Tin knew _that_ expression. Ante always had it when he was trying not to tell him something. 

"I think I deserve to know something. I saved his life and got myself into all this mess because of him, I’d at least like to know who the hell he is and how you know him."

Ante sighed again, and came closer, throwing himself in an armchair facing the couch Tin was sitting on. 

"Luka is his name, I promise. He’s a good guy for the most part, and you did a good thing. Let's just say that you saved the life of someone of high rank in-” he paused, but realised there was no turning back. When he continued his voice was much quieter and he stared at the floor instead of at Tin. “In the mafia."

If Tin wasn't already sitting down, he definitely would have collapsed at that. This had to be some kind of a joke, right?

"You are joking right? These things happen in movies. Are mafias even still a thing?" Tin laughed nervously, fidgeting with his hair. "Besides, if he’s in the mafia, what kind of idiot would try to kill him? This doesn't make any sense."

"A rival mafia. And yes, they are still a thing."

Tin opens his mouth, then closes it. Swallows. 

"Rival mafia?" He asks weakly.

Ante’s interest in the pattern on the rug appeared to intensify as he avoided Tin's questioning gaze. In different circumstances, Tin might have found it funny. It was like looking at the foggy mirror. You could recognize the shapes and colors of someone, but the full picture was blurry.

"Yes. They have been fighting over territory for years. Not in an open war, that would be stupid. Well, not until now, anyway."

Tin took a deep breath and tried to let the information sink in. His head was still spinning a little, and he found it hard to tell whether it was a lingering effect of the chloroform or if the events of the whole day were finally catching up with him. 

"Then why.."

"Why did they try to kill Luka?" Ante asks, and there is an almost there smile, the one that he has when he can guess what Tin is thinking, "I don't know. All I do know is that it's definitely not good for any of us."

Tin swallows again, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. 

"So what happens now?"

_What happens with me?_ That was the real, underlying question Tin wanted to ask. He remembered the man from the hospital, the way he swiftly killed those gunmen, without thinking twice.

Tin knew their faces, and he knew their names… when was he going to become too much of a liability, and they would decide to get rid of him? 

"Well, you have to stay here for now. We can discuss that more when Šime gets back."

Tin studied Ante for a moment, finally letting himself really look at him. Letting himself analyse the similarities and differences to the boy he dated in high school.

He was maybe a bit taller, and he had more muscle. Frankly, Tin didn't want to imagine what kind of things he did to get it. But possibly the biggest difference was how cold and closed off he seemed. It was as if he was just an echo of his past self, and Tin was blindly following the sound that disappeared long ago. 

He reminded himself to breathe in again, trying to sort his thoughts. He didn't trust Šime at all. God knows why he didn't kill him already, but Tin was pretty certain he would at one point. And as much as it pained him, he didn't think he could trust Ante, either. So that left him one option. Trying to run away. 

He quickly glanced at Ante and then at the door. He could make it, if he did it right. Deep breath. In and out.

If he read the situation right, and if he remembered right, there was one thing Ante had no idea how to deal with. Tin crying. Which meant that would be a good distraction.

Tin buried his head in his hands again and sniffled, trying his best to sound like he was crying. 

"Tin?" 

Tin made a pained sound, curling more into himself. God, he hoped Ante didn't remember he used to be part of drama club as well.

"It's just- it’s too much. I can't- breathe-" Tin sobbed, and he could hear Ante moving.

He sat next to Tin, awkwardly wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Tin almost laughed when he imagined his face. He rarely cried, and Ante never knew how to deal with it when he did.

"It's going to be okay. Nobody is going to hurt you, okay? I promise."

That sent a pang of guilt through Tin’s stomach, and he hesitated for a moment. But then the memory of Ante just standing there and letting Šime knock him unconscious with chloroform resurfaced. The anger resurfaced and he shifted a bit in Ante's embrace. And then he kicked him between the legs. Hard. 

Ante doubled over, swearing loudly, and Tin pushed him off, ignoring the pained sounds Ante made. He jumped off the couch, running towards the door. 

Before he could reach the door though, Ante managed to grab his leg and pull it, and Tin crashed to the floor. 

He didn't have the chance to try and get out of the grasp because Ante was there, pinning him to the floor. 

They were face to face and Tin could feel Ante's warm breath on his face, and the way both of their hearts beat wildly in their chests. Those ocean blue eyes threatened to swallow him in their depths, and he tried to remember he wanted to escape and not pull him closer.

"I am starting to regret teaching you self defense," Ante said, right next to his ear and Tin suppressed a shudder. 

He tried to wrench his wrists from Ante's grasp, but to no avail. Ante smirked and Tin let his head fall back to the floor with a quiet thud.

"So, what now? You plan on holding me pinned to the floor until your friend comes back or what?"

"I don't know," Ante said, gently rubbing circles into Tin's wrist with his thumb, "it depends if you will try to escape again or not."

Tin swallowed, his heart racing at the gentle motion. The memories of Ante he was in love with collided with this new, dangerous man in front of him. As similar as he seemed at first glance, Tin couldn't forget how easily he killed a man, without a flinch or any sign of regret. It made his stomach turn. 

"Stop it."

Ante's hand immediately stilled at that. Tin breathed out in relief, but his heart and mind continued racing. Šime wasn't here yet, but it was only a matter of time before he came. Tin couldn't win in a physical fight against Ante and escape. So what could he do?

Alert someone else. Alert Andrej. He would know what to do. 

Tin purposefully relaxed into Ante's hold, instead of trying to find a way to get out of it. Ante narrowed his eyes at him.

"I won't try to run away again if you let me make one phone call.”

Ante snorts at that.

"Sure, why don't I just call the police for you while we are at it?"

"I wouldn't try to call the police. I am not that stupid,” Tin sighed, rolling his eyes, "I just want to call my roommate. If I don't come back he will freak out and he _will_ call the police. You don't want extra attention do you?"

That made Ante pause, and Tin counted that as a victory. The truth was, Andi probably wouldn't notice him missing for at least a day or two without Tin calling. Sometimes Tin worried how much time he spent in his room, apparently working on his assignments. Tin barely even ever saw him leave to go to his lectures, but he supposed it was none of his business.

"You can even stay in the room while I call him. I won't say anything that could lead him to you."

Ante studied him for a moment and Tin readily met his gaze, willing himself to stay calm. He could do this - he _had_ to do this. If he had to choose between not dying and lying to Ante, well. He'd choose lying any day.

"One call. You have two minutes, and I will be listening to everything you say. One wrong word and I'll send someone to get rid of your friend. Understood?"

Tin nodded jerkily. Another reminder why he couldn't trust Ante. He knew Tin too well, his family and now Andi as well. And he could hurt them if Tin did anything wrong. 

Tin cursed himself and his inability not to get involved. _If he just let Luka get shot, he wouldn't be in this mess._

But no- he didn't regret saving his life. As much as he hated this whole situation, Tin knew he couldn't have done anything differently. He was never one to stand aside if he could do something. 

Ante let him go, and offered Tin a hand to help him get up. Tin very pointedly ignored it, but he didn't miss the way Ante's shoulders fell a little as he pulled his hand back. Tin pushed the feeling of guilt away, turning his head the other way. This wasn't the same Ante anymore. He was in the mafia for God’s sake, and he was actively involved in kidnapping Tin. Tin assured himself that he had nothing to feel guilty about.

"So, can I have my phone?"

Ante wordless reached into his bag and handed Tin the phone. He made sure their hands didn't brush, and Tin was thankful for that at least. 

"Two minutes," Ante reminded him and Tin refused the urge to roll his eyes.

"Yes, I think your original threat was clear enough. Can I just call him now?"

Ante sighed, but motioned to him to go on. Tin pressed call and prayed Andi actually heard his phone, or this was all for nothing. It rang one, two, three times-

"Hello?"

"Oh thank God," Tin exclaimed, immediately slapping a hand over his mouth, "I mean. I am glad you answered. I wanted to tell you I won't be coming home today."

Silence. Tin pretended not to see the suspicious stare Ante was giving him and focused on breathing instead.

"Okay? You didn't have to call me for that, you know."

Tin was suddenly very grateful that Ante didn't ask him to put the phone on speaker.

"I know, I know, I just thought you'd be worried. It might be a few days before I come back, I’m not sure yet. But I wanted to ask you for a favor."

Tin swallowed, aware that now both Ante's and Andi's attention was on him. 

"Sure? What is it?"

"If you could buy those cupcakes we saw in the store the other day… the ones with lots of red sprinkles on top, I'd love you forever."

Next to him, Ante chuckled, but Tin could hear Andi take a sharp breath. Neither of them liked cupcakes, which is why they made that a sort of code to let each other know if they were in trouble. The sprinkles signaled how bad the situation was. Green meant something unpleasant, like “get me away from this terrible date”. Yellow meant something more like, “I'm lost or hurt, come pick me up”. And red… well. They both expected it to stay hypothetical. It meant they were in real danger and the police had to get involved. 

"Sure. Where are you staying for the time being?"

Tin glanced at Ante, biting his bottom lip. How much could he say? It was probably the best not to risk it. He didn't want Andi to get hurt.

"Oh, just with a friend. On that note, he’s right next to me and I feel really rude right now, so I should go. Stay safe," Tin said, trying his best to sound cheerful and not terrified like he felt. 

He pressed end call before he could hear Andi's answer. He was too scared that if he heard the worry in his tone he might break down again. 

Before Tin could return the phone to Ante though, the door opened and Šime walked in, his eyes immediately landing on the device in Tin's hand. 

Before Tin could blink, Šime painfully twisted his wrist until he dropped the phone and then, a moment later there was a knife under his throat. Tin felt all of his muscles locking in place, and he barely dared to breathe.

Šime's hands were elegant, even with the numerous tattoos spanning over them. If Tin didn't know any better he would mistook his fingers for someone who played piano, or perhaps a skilled thief. But he knew how quickly his hands could move and his knife cut straight through his neck. 

"Why did the hell he have a phone?" Šime asked, his eyes boring into Ante. 

Tin knew better than to answer a question not directed at him. Even Ante looked careful, showing his palms, as if not to startle Šime. Or maybe so he could disarm him quicker, if given a chance.

"I let him call his roommate, so he doesn't report him as missing. I was right here, listening to the whole conversation. He didn't say anything that could alert him, I swear."

Šime laughed, a quick, sharp sound, before tightening his hold on Tin. 

"You are such a fool, Rebić. Who knows what kind of code he and his friend have? He could have said anything! And you just let him," Šime hissed and Tin felt as if he was going to be sick.

"A code? Šime, I have told you countless times, he is an artist. A college student. Why would he have a code? You aren't thinking rationally about this."

Tin didn't notice at what point he started trembling and his breaths became jagged. He could feel the weight of Ante's worried gaze on him and the coldness of the steel of his skin, but everything was becoming one big blur.

"Oh, _I_ am not thinking rationally? Fine. Let's see what your little artist has to say about the whole thing. With a little encouragement."

The knife cut into his skin- it was a brief, barely-there cut, just enough for him to draw blood. Tin gasped, his hand automatically going up to cover his throat. Šime caught it easily. but before he could even ask anything, they were interrupted. 

"Šime. Let him go. _Now_ ," Luka said and Tin never thought he'd ever be so happy to see him again.

He and Šime's gazes locked onto each other for a moment. Tin couldn't quite make sense of it. It didn't make sense that Luka, with his height and build, and how easily he got shot, could make Šime do anything. But something about the way he carried himself now made a cold shiver run down Tin's spine. Ante’s words from earlier echoed in his mind: _he’s a good guy for the most part._ Tin supposed this must be a glimpse of the lesser part. Šime let go of him suddenly, his legs gave out, and he fell to his knees.

His hands covered his neck and came away bloody, which made his gasp for air once again. Rationally, he knew that the cut wasn't nearly deep enough for him to bleed out, but rational thoughts seemed far away and he couldn't catch them. His head was spinning more than ever and he was sure he was dying, and everything else came through a deep, thick fog.

"Take him to the other empty room and stop the bleeding. Livi and Bruno will be here any moment. We have far bigger problems than someone reporting a college student is missing."

There were hands on his elbows, but Tin tried to fight them- he didn't want anyone touching him. But the other person was stronger and Tin gave up, letting himself be dragged away. He was faintly aware of the door closing and someone close to him rustling through something.

Enough time passed for his breaths to slowly return to normal, and then for his vision to stop swimming. He saw Ante rummage through a first aid kit and fish out a dressing that looked like a large band aid. Ante shuffled closer to put it on Tin's neck, but Tin caught his wrist in a bruising grip.

"Don't. Touch. Me," Tin hissed.

Ante wordlessly handed him the band aid and watched as Tin struggled to apply it without seeing his wound. But he didn't utter a word of complaint, and Tin was glad. He wasn't sure if he tried to touch him again if he would break down crying or break his wrist, but he was sure that he didn't want to find out. 

"Are you alright?" 

Tin snapped his gaze to Ante, disbelief evident on his face.

"Am I alright?" Tin made a choked off sound, "someone just held a knife to my throat. No I absolutely am not alright! I don't feel like I’m ever going to be okay again!"

Ante locked his jaw and stood up, starting to pace around the room.

"You don't like this? Well, newsflash sweetheart, you should have thought about that before playing the hero for a criminal," Ante hissed, completely forgetting about trying to be patient with Tin.

"I didn't know he was a criminal!" 

Ante rolled his eyes, minutely pausing his pacing around the room.

"Well then, maybe you shouldn't try to help people all the time. Especially when someone is trying to shoot them."

"What do you want me to say? That I am sorry that I saved his life?"

Tin paused, catching Ante's gaze, blue staring into blue. The sky and the ocean meeting during a storm. 

"Because I’m not. I am not sorry for being a good person. If you want to question someone's life choices, you should probably start with your own."

Ante sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. 

"I can live with my life choices, Tin. I am not sure you will be able to do the same with the consequences of yours. Being a good person doesn't mean you will get out of this unscathed."

Ante stopped, looking over at Tin, as if he was memorizing his face. He bit inside of his cheek and turned his head away, as if just looking at him hurt. 

"And I don't think I will be able to tip the scale in your favor, either." He whispered, and before Tin could even begin to unpack what he meant, Ante turned on his heel and exited the room, locking it behind him. 

Tin was left staring at the door, his tired brain trying to catch up on everything that happened. He was sure of a few things. He was kidnapped by the mafia, which was bad. He probably had no way of getting out on his own, which was worse. And lastly, the men who kept him there had no reason to leave him alive for much longer, especially since it seemed they had bigger problems already. 

And last, but not least, if he somehow survived all of this, Andi was going to kill him. 


End file.
